


and made it simple

by demonicxiconic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, First Kiss, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Or More Like, Relationship Study, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, The Vast Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), barely any beta we die when we are perceived like peter lukas, just some avatars reveling in their power together and bein real gay about it, of a relationship that is entirely fictional and didn’t happen like at all in canon, yes im a sappy bitch that likes clouds and thinking about morals and religion. what of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29823375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicxiconic/pseuds/demonicxiconic
Summary: There’s no sun around, not that he can see, but Mike’s skin is glowing anyways, the roots of his lightning-strike hair forming a swathe of haloed light around his head. Isn’t this holy? The magnetic pull of the flight and the fall? Are we not the divine in miniature?—Mike goes to relax in his favorite non-place. Oliver’s just along for the ride.
Relationships: Oliver Banks/Michael "Mike" Crew
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	and made it simple

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing for this ship, hope it isn’t too wildly out of character lmao :)  
> title and inspo from darius and the clouds by sandra cisneros.

“What do you believe in, then?”

Mike opens an eye at that, the one shot through with silver cracks. Oliver doesn’t think his words would travel over the pushing pressing swirling screaming of the wind if it was anyone else, but- it’s Mike, so of course he hears. Oliver wonders if he  _is_ the wind, sometimes, when his mop of hair flies behind him and you can see the white shock in the roots, when he pushes aside an umbrella to let the storm fall around him like music notes.

Mike turns over, makes himself more comfortable in his little air pocket as he thinks. He’s never offered to do the same for Oliver, to push the rushing air aside for him, but then again, he’s never asked, has he.

It’s a release, he supposes, to exist outside of safety. To be swept up and filled to bursting with the empty, empty air.

“I mean, all this, obviously.”

He gestures a soft hand to the expanse of blue around them. Oliver thinks he can see the ocean, eons below, but when he tries to look at it his eyes get sucked into trenches and drowned caves. So he keeps falling into nothing, eyes only on Mike. He’s had enough of the ocean for a lifetime, honestly, even one as long as his is shaping up to be.

“No, but- do you have a faith? Any ideas of how the world should turn to turn right?”

Mike shrugs, cracks his neck with a sound like a thunderclap. He’s still holding the tea that Oliver had made for him before they’d stepped out to the balcony. The thin lilies seem to wilt against the emptiness as he takes a contemplative sip.

“Wasn’t raised with anything. And, well, my world’s been turning pretty well since I jumped off that bell tower.”

He smiles, quick and sharp, and his scar warps with it, the branch that cuts over his cheek curving.

“Besides, isn’t this holy? Endless spaces, light and depth? The eternal fall and the single heartbeat when you hit the ground?”

Oliver considers this for a moment. There’s no sun around, not that he can see, but Mike’s skin is glowing anyways, the roots of his lightning-strike hair forming a swathe of haloed light around his head. _Isn’t this holy?_ The magnetic pull of the flight and the fall? Are we not the divine in miniature?

“See that?”

And suddenly, with a plunging tug like something buried in Oliver’s stomach is pulling him down, they are surrounded by clouds, grey and orange and white joined in a cacophony of skies, all together, all at once. Mike is hovering above him, his too-big button-down calmly flowing around him with the air currents, and when he smiles it looks like stars.

Oliver takes his hand and lets himself be pulled up into the pocket of stillness, and he can feel Mike’s amused eyes on him as he sputters and coughs and tries to slow his frantic breaths. He can’t quite die, these days, but his body hasn’t unlearned needing oxygen yet.

Their hands are still joined, and Oliver looks up as he feels a tug on his wrist. His eyes follow where Mike is pointing them, a puffy popcorn of a cloud, gilded in the light of a hundred sunsets.

“Y-yeah, I see it.”

Mike nods, still gazing towards the distant shape, a sky-drunk smile playing on his lips. Oliver feels vertigo begin to swim in his stomach, something that pulls him down, away, out, back to morgues and misty streets and simple black-and-white mortality.

It’s  _ exhilarating _ . Oliver moves closer, cold fingers closing in until the tail end of Mike’s scar is pressed against his skin.

“That’s God.”

Oliver huffs a laugh, nodding along as Mike squeezes his hand back, sending a jolt of electricity between their palms. His heart begins to thud in his chest again with the shock, a little contradiction to everything Oliver is becoming, a nervous tic, a giveaway for sure. It’s too early for this, much too early, but Mike’s lingering smile feels like open sky and his cheeks are dyed sunset-pink beneath his tan.

“That one right there? That’s God?”

Mike glances away from the clouds, then, and looking into his bottomless eyes, Oliver would believe just about anything.

“God.”

And it’s so easy after that. That simple progression, even though Oliver’s fingers twitch against the nape of Mike’s neck and Mike has chapped lips that crackle beneath the press of Oliver’s plush ones, and Oliver doesn’t have the kind of hair that you can really run your fingers through or warm skin to whisper against. It’s so simple, as they kiss, a thousand feet above it all, warm wind whipping around them and stealing Oliver’s breath.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked that! i’m @demonicxiconic on tumblr if you wanna talk about gay things, tma things, poetry things, or whatever!


End file.
